[That smile of his— always warm and full of reassurance, and Gale finds himself wondering if, perhaps, he had not been so far off the mark after all. It would be so, so easy to imagine such things after so many long months sequestered away from the world, so much time spent keenly aware of the fact that any given day could not only be his last, but was more likely to be than not. That last part, he supposes, hasn't changed much in the least.

Perhaps it's the wine bolstering his courage, or the fact that there's so little left to lose. What do any of them really have left to hold onto, at this point?

Certainly not pride. He's had his fill of that, personally.]

Oh, I do wish you would.

[... wait.]

'Impose' more often, I mean, though it is certainly no imposition at all. The story would be more than welcome, of course. I am certain I would enjoy any tale you had to tell.